


Nighlight, Dreamcatcher

by Oldflowers



Category: Fifty Shades of Grey (Movies), Fifty Shades of Grey - All Media Types, Fifty Shades of Grey Series - E. L. James
Genre: Bisexuality, Control Issues, Dom/sub, Identity Issues, Light BDSM, Multi, No Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28800747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oldflowers/pseuds/Oldflowers
Summary: "Have you ever imagined how it might feel to relinquish all of that responsibility? The constant, incessant burden of organizing the lives of other people? Imagine... Christian Grey, bearer of all burdens, releasing all control. Giving it to someone else for a moment. It's freeing."
Relationships: Christian Grey/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	Nighlight, Dreamcatcher

**Author's Note:**

> I watched a YouTube video that mentioned Christian Grey as a Submissive. Just like magic, this little unfinished idea then popped up in my Samsung Notes. I've never read the books or seen the movies, so this is basically a shot in the dark.

She was good. Better than good, maybe. If Christian were being generous, he might even say she was above average, if only by a modest amount. She wore this matte lipstick that turned her lips plump, swollen — pretty as a pink summer rose. It was smeared in a trail across her mouth and over her chin, trailing to blend with the gentle red sucking kisses Christian had left down her neck. Her bright blonde hair was faded like old straw in the dim bedroom, trailing thick and tangled over her shoulders and down her spine. The beginnings of a soft bruise encircled her upper wrists. 

"Mr. Grey."

Christian refocused his eyes, though he couldn't help but brush over her discarded pink cuffs, her smooth, plump legs, the clothes she held in her arm, washed and pressed and folded before either of them had woken up. And it was unlike Christian, really, to see those things and feel little more than a vague, faded stir of interest. Stella was his — one of the many women who'd ever been his — and she was good, beautiful, just what he wanted, but her voice, eyes, and supple pink mouth had long begun to feel like a film he'd seen too many times.

"Permission to speak?" 

"Granted," Christian nodded. The act of providing permission no longer aroused him as it once had. 

"I'm worried for you." 

"I see," Christian said. He idly picked up the cuffs Stella had left on the sheets, teasing the pink fur lining with a fingertip. Stella's cheeks pinkened, soft and hot, but for a reason decidedly less fun than Christian preferred. 

"It's different. So different," Stella said. "When I signed the contract two years ago—" 

"Twenty months." 

"Yes, twenty months," Stella corrected herself. "When I signed the contract twenty months ago, I knew what it entailed. No romance, no frills, just this. And I love it, I swear I do, but I can't tell if you're enjoying yourself anymore." 

Christian narrowed his eyes, searching her expression from afar. "My enjoyment is my concern." 

"Mr. Grey, your enjoyment is important to me, too. In fact," she added, "as your Submissive, your enjoyment is my only concern." 

A small, sad smile graced her tender lips. Of all the Submissives Christian had owned, Stella was indeed remarkable. Her mouth was pliant, hot tongue and soft throat, but her smile was particularly notable. Sweet as the honey she always stirred into her morning coffee. One teaspoon, because one teaspoon was all Christian allowed. 

"Mr. Grey, if anyone is capable of running a company and living with the weight of an empire on his shoulders, it's you. But it's too much for too long. It's too much for anyone." 

Christian smiled. "Some people bury themselves in books. Some people gamble. Some people drown in their work and swim deeper and deeper until they go numb," he said. He let the cuffs dangle from his finger. "Everyone has their own escape. This is mine. You shouldn't worry." 

"I wouldn't worry, Mr. Grey, if I thought that this —" she gestured to herself, the cuffs "— was still what you needed." 

For an instant, Christian considered bending her over his knee and reminding her of the punishment for insubordination — but the concept, and his lack of enthusiasm for it — seemed somehow insufficient, like its weight had died off and there was nothing to be gained from it by either of them. 

"Have you ever imagined how it might feel to relinquish all of that responsibility? The order, the structure, the boundaries, the clothing, the constant, incessant burden of organizing the lives and needs of other people?" Stella's eyes softened and a sigh parted her lips. She wiped the stray lipstick with her wrist. "In the Submissive headspace, it's almost like I'm falling into a dream. It's like the whole world shrinks into nothing and it's just... me. Me and my Dominant," she said. "I don't worry about my house, my family, or anything else. It's just that moment. Just me and my Dominant." 

"You want me to Sub for you." 

Stella breathed a small laugh, her cheeks dusted soft pink. "No. Ha. No. I'm not a Dominant," she laughed gently. "But I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't help you. Imagine... Christian Grey, bearer of all burdens, shedding responsibility and releasing all control. Giving it to someone else for a moment. It's freeing." 

It was difficult not to close his eyes. The soft fur of the cuffs brushed Christian's ankle where he'd set it aside. Once upon a time, he'd worn cuffs like that — dark blue fuzz clamped tight around his ankles, holding him still as his Dominant extracted moans and bitten sobs from his tortured lips. 

"Who knows?" Stella questioned, soft-eyed, compassionate. "Maybe you deserve to feel that kind of freedom." 

Stella smiled, looked at him softer than she probably should have, and closed the door behind her. 

**:::**

Tucked just under the steaming teapot was a small note folded twice and written in round, swoopy letters. 

> _"314-620-****. His name is Jonathan. Good Dominant, about 6'3". I think you should give him a call._
> 
> _Thank you, Mr. Grey. You deserve to be happy._
> 
> _— Stella"_

It seemed she'd decided for herself what her future would be, irregardless of the part Christian would've chosen to play in it had he the want — or the will — to pursue her. Stella's silver collar — pure, rich metal inlaid with glittering sapphires — laid nestled on a black velvet cushion in the box it had come in exactly twenty months ago. It was placed on the tea table with all the presentation of an entree in a fine dinery. 

Her car blinked faintly as it drove down the road all those innumerable stories below. Seattle traffic was blessedly sparse so early in the morning, the sky blue-purple-red and still speckled with the faintest of stars.

The phone number she'd written stared up at Christian from the palm of his hand, odd and alluring, a portal of sorts, to a world he thought he'd never be subject to again. He glanced at the teapot, the waste bin, the window latch that opened to all of Seattle, but ultimately folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. It wouldn't do for some stranger or employee to find it.

He repeated that in his mind even as he held the note over the toilet bowl, willing himself to drop it into the water and flush it away.

Christian had an assistant write Stella a check. Paid off her loans, sent her some clothes, extended a job offer for some cushy role in interior design. She always loved that kind of thing, didn't she — she was a pop of color in his tower of metal and stone. He gave her a penthouse office as well, because going their separate ways didn't have to mean he would never _see her._ It wasn't love, it was familiarity. Comfort, he might call it. A nightlight. A dreamcatcher. He could catch her eyes on occasion and know she was okay.

**:::**

She left her earrings on the desk again. Oval sapphire and diamond studs as wide around as a dime. It was a birthday gift she'd told him she couldn't accept. Bosses didn't typically give employees $7,000 gifts, but by all means, birthdays were meant to be exceptional. 

_"I don't want you doing this for me,"_ she'd told him.

On impulse, Christian responded, _"I had to."_

Stella had looked at him with sad grey eyes and put on a weak smile. She stood silently for him as he fastened the earrings on her himself, one by one. The office had been dark save for the city beyond the windows. Stella had been preparing to leave for the night, holding her purse and everything. The sapphire earring twinkled like starlight on the moonlit half of her face. 

_"Happy birthday,"_ he'd whispered to her. 

All she'd done was plant a kiss an inch from his ear and whisper, _"Call him, Christian. Do something for_ ** _you_**. **_That's_** _what I want for my birthday."_

Then she'd left. She'd left and when she came back the next morning, she wore a different pair on her commute and only put on the sapphire ones when Christian came by to say hello. She switched them out so often that, eventually, she'd taken to leaving the sapphire pair on her desk overnight. She only wore them when she knew Christian was looking.

The _true_ gift, the one she whispered in his ear, couldn't be bought; only borrowed. Borrowed and… experienced. 

Christian brushed his fingertips over the earrings on the desk, idly rolling them over the fine, dark wood. It was evening in December, which meant the skies were dark and the tower was all but empty save for night staff and security. He stared at the dial pad on his cell, reached into his pocket, and pulled out Stella's note.


End file.
